


like what keeps you well

by HomewardBone



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Octo Expansion DLC, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mentions of eye trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomewardBone/pseuds/HomewardBone
Summary: The standard recovery period for the sudden loss of an eye is one year, but Rider has never really been one to sit around and wait. He might just learn some things can't be rushed.
Relationships: Emperor/Rider (Splatoon)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	like what keeps you well

The day started early and while one could argue that was normal for Emperor, a quick glance of the time told him it was just a little too early, even for him. He had no issue with tossing the blankets back over himself and letting sleep take him once more, but as he turned over to do just that, the unoccupied space next to him shook him awake. Rider wasn't there.

Emperor could feel unease beginning to form within him, though he attempted to shake it off as quickly as it arose. While early rising was a trait shared by the both of them and mornings--the quiet still that made them feel as if no one else in the world even existed-- were always appreciated, if it were too early for Emperor to grace the day, it was far too early for Rider.

Looking through the house, Rider was nowhere to be found, although it didn't surprise Emperor, and he didn't find himself thinking very hard about where he would be.

The door shutting quietly behind him, Emperor made his way through the  
training room. As he expected, the floor was covered in copious amounts of familiar acid green. Emperor was quick to switch over his own ink to avoid any issue with moving around. The air was filled with the sound of heavy swings followed by the splatter of ink, grunts, repeated swings, and the tell-tale sounds of inflatable targets popping. As silently as he entered, Emperor rounded the corner and finally caught sight of Rider.

Sweat beading and dripping down his skin-- it seemed Rider had discarded his signature jacket long ago, tossed carelessly to the side-- heavy breathing, and even from this angle, Emperor could see the intense scowl on Rider's face. Emperor couldn't help a small smile; It was a scene he's seen time and time again and he doubted it would ever change. Silently, Emperor collected Rider's jacket-- it had found home tossed aside against a far wall-- and continued to watch.

The longer he watched, however, the quicker the smile fell as it became painfully obvious to Emperor just how much Rider was struggling. It was practice, there was no place for perfection in practice, but you could never tell Rider that. Emperor could feel the unease from before creep back up.

If there were anything Emperor was certain of, it was Rider. He knew how Rider was, how he practiced, how he thought. What he thought.

And the performance Rider was putting on worried Emperor.

He was missing. He was missing more swings than he had since he first picked up his dynamo, back as a child. He was missing and it was driving him absolutely mad. It wasn't like he never missed; he was well aware of how his aim fluctuated, but never like _this_. Never every other flick, never by such a vast margin. Never like this.

He wasn't stupid, Rider knew getting back on his feet after losing his eye would be difficult, but he was eager to jump back into his regular routine. He had been told by doctors and professionals alike the healing process would take some time, that he shouldn't rush something so drastic to his day to day living. But sitting still, waiting, all of those things never sat well with Rider. So when the initial swelling went down, it became increasingly harder to keep him away from any kind of turf.

Clutching the handle of his dynamo, the inkling took a moment to collect himself, trying not to think about the shake in his breathing, trying to push back the thoughts that were beginning to plague his mind. He raised his weapon and began again.

Rider thought back to the first time he so much as attempted to leave his bed, barely hours passing after the reveal that he had lost his eye completely to his sanitation, to that telephone, Tartar.

Rider couldn't remember when his feet hit the ground, even if he saw it happen. As soon as he stood, sickness took him in waves, the walls of his bedroom spinning. A room he once knew better than the back of his hand now foreign, closing in as a seemingly never-ending spell of dizziness took him. Emperor caught him when he inevitably collapsed. Rider didn't speak for hours. He had to learn to walk all over again.

Rider tried to drown the pang he felt in his heart at the memory, barely a week old, flicks of his dynamo becoming faster, sloppier, desperate.

He could still feel it all, the burning on his skin, the heat in his eye, the feeling of being there but not being him. He couldn't begin to count how many times he'd found his hands subconsciously pulled to his eye, even less how many times he had to be stopped from clawing at goop that wasn't even there.

Another missed flick of his dynamo, his breathing was growing erratic. Steps were clumsy, Rider barely stopping himself from tripping over his own feet.

The dreams were proving to be one of the worst parts of it all. Terrors that gripped at him well past waking, memories of what happened, attacking his friends while he could do nothing but watch from the confines of his own mind. The voices that whispered to him never stopped, and that burning feeling that consumed his entirety, a fire that would never extinguish no matter how hard he tried. A burning that took so little yet far more than he could have ever imagined from him and continued until he was no longer himself.

 _Why_ couldn't he make a connection? _Why_ weren't his flicks hitting a target less than ten feet from him? _Why cant he be himself anymore_?

He didn't feel the tears when they started. Of course, he didn't feel much of anything on that side of his face anymore. The dynamo kept him standing, grasping and holding onto the golden weapon as if he were afraid it would disappear should he ever let go. An aching sob left his throat and Emperor's heart broke.

Emperor had him in his arms in an instant, dynamo and all, and Rider fell into him as they sunk to the ground. There were no words spoken, but as they sat on the ink-stained floor, air filled with nothing but muffled crying, Emperor held Rider as tight as he possibly could.

He hoped with everything in him that even in this heart-wrenching silence, Rider would understand; He would give the world to make sure Rider believed in himself again. No matter how long it took.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh! hey! this is my first real publicly posted writing! wow!  
> thanks for taking the time to read it, i've been a little nervous about it, ahaha. <3


End file.
